A dance with death
by Dayreader
Summary: Now when Moriarty is back, and ready to play; It isn't just Sherlock's life who's put in danger... Note: I don't own anything of Sherlock related


Moriarty, Sherlock's contrarily,

Moriarty, our greatest fear,

Moriarty, the one that holds the power and the key,

So please, get down on your knees and hail the king.

The hymn was everywhere. It didn't rhyme and was a bit cliché, but it was still frightening.

Pinned on every screen the hymn displayed, causing a chaotic outbreak from the people in the country.

John sat in his old red armchair, watching Sherlock as he sat down in the brown armchair, with his hands clasped together just beneath his chin.

Sherlock was in his mind palace and didn't seem to get out any time soon.

Sherlock wasn't just a 'high functioning sociopath' anymore, he was a murderer. But his sins had been forgiven of John, not that he was a priest, but his compassion said it all. Sherlock had only tried to help John and Mary.

Sherlock had killed for John.

That was a terrifying yet a powerful thought.

But John had killed for Sherlock too, hadn't he?

A few years back, when Sherlock was about to take the pill.

Even if Sherlock did manage to solve this case, or, if he managed to put Moriarty behind bars; Sherlock would still get his death sentence or if 'lucky', a lifetime in prison.

Being so called 'free', being allowed to breathe the oxygen from the streets of London, it was all temporary. He would be put into prison as soon as Moriarty was caught, or _if. _

Since Sherlock could fake his death, then why couldn't Moriarty?

Putting that gun in his mouth and firing a shot must have hurt, but Moriarty fell down on the top of that roof breathless, with no pain.

_Why didn't he feel any pain? _

The question he had missed. It was now obvious to Sherlock that Moriarty had faked his death. Sherlock shouldn't need to go into details about how, but he figured that it was best if he just did.

The most logical thing that came to his mind was that Moriarty had used blanks. With a real gun, some blanks and blood; it really wasn't so hard to fake ones death.

After Sherlock had 'deceased', what happened to Moriarty's presumed body? Did he manage to pull the same stunt as Sherlock?

Endless questions and no answers, seems like Sherlock would have to focus even harder.

The question Sherlock should be asking is why _now. _Why return now. He needed to clear his mind so he turned his head up, catching John's gaze within seconds.

"John, let's talk about Moriarty." John's eyebrows shot up and John gestured a 'why not' with his hands.

"Laying on that rooftop, expecting me to die, he observes my final move. So he knows that I'm alive though the misleading media. It takes him over two years to come back, wanting to play. Why the wait?"

"Have you read his hymn, or poem?"

"What poem?" Sherlock said puzzled. John rose from his armchair and went to the kitchen to get his laptop.

"I'm talking about… this." John said, handing Sherlock the laptop. The laptop had, as every other screen in the county, been hacked for three hours.

"I guess that when the hackers managed to take the first picture down, he got up a new picture." John simply said. Sherlock gestured to John to be quiet as he read the hymn.

**M**oriarty, _Sh__**E**__rl__**O**__ck's_ **C**ontrarily,

M**O**riarty, o**U**r greates**T** fear,

Mori**A**rty, the o**N**e that holds the power an**D** the key,

So **PL**e**A**se, get down on **Y**our knees and hail the king.

**Sherlock, come out and play**

The hymn was short and it's encoding easy.

The code was meant for Sherlock, but what did he intend it to mean?

"So, did you find anything?" John asked after a while and Sherlock closed the laptop, not seeing a use for it.

"Come out and play."

"What?"

"Come out and play, that's what he intended to write. He obviously corrupted the whole UK's Wi-Fi system to get those pictures out so that no matter where in the UK I was, I wouldn't miss him."

"So, what does this all mean?" John couldn't help but ask-

"It means… that Moriarty's bored." They both knew what _bored_ meant. Endless trails of dead bodies.

"How are we going to lure him out?" John asked.

"Lure him out?"

"Well, isn't that what you want to do?" Sherlock scowled and leaned back against his armchair.

"I want him out, I want him imprisoned, but as soon as his behind bars, so am I." John hadn't thought of it that way.

As soon as Moriarty would be captured, Sherlock would be too.

"I guess this's what his whole game is about. To see if I'd actually give up my freedom just to take him down."

"So, will you?" Sherlock smiled empty.

"I'm here aren't I?"


End file.
